


Further than home

by a_Wreck



Series: busguy!au [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Eponine is spoiled and veeery young, Grantaire really needs a hug, Underage Drinking, Young Grantaire, bus guy au, definitely dont live like Grantaire, it isn't healthy, young éponine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27122596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_Wreck/pseuds/a_Wreck
Summary: For the first time in a long while, Grantaire needs someone to talk to. That somebody arrives in the unlikely form of the young daughter of the owner of Napoleon's Hat, Eponine.
Series: busguy!au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979725
Kudos: 2





	Further than home

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, long time no see.  
> This story is set in the same universe as the _Five times Courfeyrac told Enjolras he had a crush on Grantaire and one time he didn't have to_ story or as some of you call it, the bus guy au.  
> I wanted to make a few things clearer about Grantaire's backstory, since I couldn't fit much of it into the previous story.  
> Definitely read that one too for some Enjoltaire ;) 's good I promise

Grantaire hated most days. Going to school, fighting with his mom, working at the petrol station at the outskirts of Saint-André-de-Buéges, and falling asleep over homework. Fridays were okay, though. After the first few dreadful hours at school, which – let’s be honest – could be skipped sometimes, it was time to go home, grab a quick meal if it was possible and get on that four thirty bus to get to Montpellier to meet up with friends and not return to his boring old town until dawn. 

Grantaire used to think of Montpellier as the big city. It used to excite him to explore it, to find bars and places that sold alcohol to fifteen-year-olds. He used to feel cool for having city friends, he was proud of himself for living a wild life. But as time went on, the whole thing started to feel more and more ordinary until it became a routine just as dull as Grantaire’s everyday life. After a year of roaming the streets of the city he had started to describe his Friday nights as _okay_ instead of _exciting_.

But _okay_ was still better than anything he had at home, so Grantaire wasn’t about to complain. His friends always waited for him at his stop at Montpellier, they ate chips and drank energy drinks and beers until it got dark, then they settled on a bar to visit. That bar was usually Napoleon’s Hat, because the drinks were cheap and the owner didn’t care about their age.

That Friday night wasn’t much different from any other, except that it was going by surprisingly slowly. Grantaire was used to chatting away and not remembering to check the time until around four am. He could ramble on about the most random bullshit for hours, not caring if anyone listened or not, but today, he couldn’t seem to even keep himself in a conversation with the others let alone letting his random words fill the quiet around him. The thing was, it was only midnight and Grantaire was bored, which was unusual. He was used to feeling apathetic towards the conversations at hand, but alcohol made his thoughts run wild, so he was never bored.

Maybe that night was different because it was only them in the dingy pub, except for the owner’s family and some dudes in the corner who were at the bar so much they were basically considered decoration at that point. Not a very stimulating environment. But again, a few shots were usually enough of a stimulation for Grantaire. It was also possible that he couldn’t enjoy himself as much as he usually did, because his side hurt every time he moved, but he would rather not think about that. 

It didn’t matter anyway, because his friends didn’t seem to mind that he was more distant than usual. Montparnasse, for instance, only raised an eyebrow when Grantaire winced as he got off the bus.

“Margo’s new boyfriend.” Grantaire shrugged. He had taken to calling his mother by her first name when he was out with friends. It made it more impersonal, easier to talk about, easier to let them judge it. Montparnasse never commented on the winces again. Neither did any of their friends and Grantaire didn’t volunteer any information himself. He never did, but somehow this time it felt different, this time he wished he could just tell them the whole story, or shout at them all tell them those plans he had been thinking about for a while.

Grantaire used to feel thankful for his friends’ ignorance. It was nice not to have to explain himself. But that night, as his restlessness only grew with every passing minute, he started to believe it was possible that the school psychologist who came to speak to his class a few weeks ago was right, and it would help to talk about his feelings with somebody. Of course, it wasn’t like any one of his friends would want to listen. Grantaire knew they had their own problems and yet they never mentioned them for more than half a sentence, they never whined about their shit, so Grantaire should just suck it up as well and get lost in the night. Only for some reason, this time he felt like he couldn’t.

“Where are you going?” Montparnasse turned towards him in his chair as Grantaire stood.

“Just getting some fresh air,” he answered. He hadn’t consciously realized that he was heading for the back door until his friend pointed it out, but he had figured he might as well have a cigarette outside.

“You know Céline made me quit the thing.” Parnasse shook his head as he rose from his seat to follow the boy. Céline, his new girlfriend, did want him to stop smoking, but that didn’t stop him from going through half a pack on Friday nights. What he really meant was that he didn’t want to leave the game of poker he was cheating his way through behind.

“You don’t have to come, I didn’t ask you,” Grantaire replied. Granted, a bit ruder than the situation called for, but he really didn’t want Montparnasse to come with him. The most helpful advice he could imagine getting from him was the address of a guy who sold guns. For all his smart tricks and scams, sometimes it was very evident Montparnasse was only fourteen. He still thought everything could be solved with a loaded gun.

“Fine, no need to be such an asshole about it” the boy snapped as he turned back to the game. “I’ll take another card.” 

That was the advantage of barely caring about life, verbal jabs didn’t leave a sting for very long, so Grantaire exited the pub through the back door without any further interruptions. 

If you went through the back door of Napoleon’s Hat, you found yourself at the end of a smelly corridor with dirty carpeting and mold on the walls. The different doors opened to storage rooms and other places used for whatever shady businesses the Thenardiers dealt in besides running the Napoleon’s Hat. (Probably money laundering, considering the insignificant prices.) At the other end of the corridor was a steep flight of stairs that lead outside to a narrow, dimly lit alley, crammed with huge garbage containers and surrounded by grey houses with sealed windows. The perfect place for the sort of business that people liked to conduct around these parts. 

Grantaire didn’t stop there though. He pushed himself between one of the containers and the pub’s backwall, grimacing as his hands touched something wet and nasty between the bricks, until he reached the fire escape at the side of the building. Not many buildings had fire escapes around here and the ones that did weren’t the type you saw in American movies. This fire escape for example was basically a ladder screwed to the wall. The Thenardiers obviously had it only to be able to flee when a situation got sticky.

Grantaire bit the inside of his cheeks as his side protested against the climb, but he wasn’t about to smoke on the street just because stupid boyfriend number probably twenty something at this point had shoved him against the counter that afternoon, so he pushed himself off the ground and started climbing the ladder. Grantaire couldn’t even say the man hit him, he was just drunk and thought Grantaire was his father. Which was ironic, because Grantaire didn’t even know he looked like his father before that day.

“This is what you get for dating high school classmates, Margo,” Grantaire muttered to himself as he reached the top of the ladder and climbed onto the flat roof of Napoleon’s Hat.

He wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but it took him a moment to get himself together enough to dig his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. He was glad he didn’t bring Montparnasse with him. He would have probably made fun of him for not managing to light his lighter on the first try, plus he only had three cigarettes left. And he needed at least one for the way home and it was only midnight. There were still way too many hours back from the night to go before the night was over for the one cigarette that was left to bridge. And Parnasse never had any on him.

Grantaire was around his third drag of the cigarette when the door to the roof that led to the rooms of the owner’s family revealed a little girl in a pink hoodie, leopard print leggings and knock-off Nike sneakers.

“Hi, R!” she said cheerily as she pushed the door shut behind her and joined Grantaire who was leaning against the rusty railing that ran around the roof.

“Hey, Eponine,” Grantaire nodded, not looking away from the view. This was the reason he climbed up there anyway. From the top of the Napoleon’s Hat you could see the beach and how the lights of the many restaurants and bars were reflected by the sea. And if you looked even further, you saw only the never-ending blackness of the Mediterranean Sea and the stars above it. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“No one is sleeping.” The little girl shrugged as if it were a normal occurrence. “Mom is screaming at Gav. It’s very loud.”

“I see,” Grantaire nodded.

“Shouldn’t you be drinking down there?”

“I already have.”

“You usually drink the whole night.”

“What are you? A spy?” Grantaire finally looked down at the girl. She was looking out towards the sea as well, seemingly not minding that the sleeves of her hoodie got covered in rust.

“You come here almost every Friday.” She turned away from the view to give Grantaire a look. She had makeup on, which was a strangely disturbing site to see on an eleven-year-old child’s face. It just looked wrong, and Grantaire had the feeling her face would look nicer without it. “It isn’t hard to know. You like daddy’s bar, right?”

“Uhm…” Grantaire shrugged, not about to share that he barely tolerated anything in life.

“Why are you up here alone?” Eponine continued her interrogation, not bothered by Grantaire’s lack of enthusiasm at all.

“I guess it gets hard sometimes. Being around everyone else,” Grantaire settled on as an answer. It was more than he usually shared, but he hoped that it would satisfy the girl enough to at least stay quiet for the rest of the time.

“Oh, that’s true. It is hard to always be around people. That’s why I came out here too. Azelma wouldn’t stop nagging me.”

“I guess I’m just tired of this place,” Grantaire added, blowing a long streak of smoke into the night. 

“Napoleon’s Hat?”

“No, the whole place. Saint Andrés, Montpellier, this life here.”

“What do you mean?” The question took Grantaire a bit off guard. He didn’t expect to have to explain himself. He didn’t expect to even share that much to be honest. But it felt nice to share. And it wasn’t like Eponine was going to tell anyone. She could hardly grasp the concept of not liking your life, so he continued.

“I mean, I’m tired of getting up early just to go to school, where all the teachers hate me, then go home and find my mother either drunk or with a man, who is either drunk or overly friendly. Or not finding my mom at home at all, and not finding anything in the fridge either.”

“That sucks.” Eponine shook her head.

“Yeah, makes you want to fuck off to somewhere and leave this place behind.”

“You want to run away?” The girl’s eyes widened. Grantaire thought about denying it for a moment, but he realized he didn’t want to back off this time. If he was going to tell this to anyone, let it be the eleven-year-old daughter of a shady pub owner. Eponine was a nice enough kid. A bit spoiled but nice all the same. And no one would think to ask her about him if he was to really go away. Though that seemed like an impossible option, even after thinking about it for months by now.

“Yeah” he admitted out loud. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest.

“And where would you go?”

“I don’t know. Paris? It’s big, I could blend in and start a new life.”

“Montpellier is big too. You could live in Beachwave Motel,” Eponine offered, pointing at the questionable looking establishment at the end of the street.

“It isn’t far enough” Grantaire shook his head. “And Paris is much bigger than Montpellier.”

“How do you know?”

“I checked on Google Maps,” Grantaire shrugged.

“And what would you do in Paris?”

“I guess get a job, finish high school, maybe go to university.”

“What kind of university?”

“Art,” Grantaire volunteered, which surprised even himself, since he had never told anyone this before. Hardly anyone even knew he painted.

“You can do all those things here,” Eponine pointed out.

“But I need to go further if I want to leave for good.” Grantaire shrugged, dropping his cigarette then stubbing it out with his feet.

“You want to leave for good?” The little girl’s eyes widened. “Like never coming back?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire nodded, itching to have another cigarette for this conversation.

“Wouldn’t you miss your friends?”

“Nah.” Grantaire shrugged. “I could just get new friends.”

“But that wouldn’t be this same, would it?” Eponine looked up again.

“Of course it would. This is not some Disney channel bullshit. You can get friends anywhere. Everyone is up for a good night.”

“Well, I guess so.” Eponine frowned.

“What did you say, you little dick?” a drunk voice sounded from the street under them.

“Come on, no need to be so fucking angry about it. Everyone knows this,” one of Grantaire’s friends’ voice answered. “Shit man, put that knife away!”

“Damn straight, man,” Montparnasse joined in on the conversation.

“I should go down before someone calls the police” Grantaire sighed, pushing himself away from the railing. He took a deep breath before descending the ladder.

“Will you send me a postcard? If you go to Paris?” Eponine asked suddenly. Grantaire didn’t even realize she was still standing by the railing.

“No,” he answered truthfully. “I will never write to anyone from here.”

“That’s very shitty of you.” The little girl grimaced.

“Probably.” Grantaire agreed as he descended the ladder, already planning on which bar they should move on to if someone called the police on them here and what he would order there, temporarily forgetting about the entire conversation by the time his feet hit the pavement.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this shorter backstory. If you want more, definitely read my longer fic in this au. (Or give it a reread *smirk*)  
> I have a [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/awreckfics) too and I would love you to drop by even if it doesn't seem very active, I swear I didn't forget about it, it'll see some action soon!  
> Also please comment and send kudos, they make me really happy. :)


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